Adjusting
by Fortinbras
Summary: The aftermath of the rescue from the island. The boys are brought to a boarding school in London, where they will spend their time until they turn eighteen or are claimed by a parent. R&R Anonymous reviews enabled! CHAPTER FIVE up!
1. Arriving

ADJUSTING

Chapter One

DISCLAIMER: I do not own Lord of the Flies, nor any of the characters contained within. Don't sue.

Ralph walked slowly down the exit ramp of the boat, stepping off the ramp to place his feet on the solid cement of London's streets. After the long boat voyage, his legs felt rather wobbly, but he tried his best to ignore the feeling, and walk normally. After three weeks at sea, his rescuers' ship had finally pulled into port. Ralph hadn't said much during the voyage. Instead he had closed himself off from his former schoolmates, preferring instead to seek solitude in his small room on-board, strenuously rebuking all attempts at contact. He sighed, almost imperceptibly, and quickened his pace.

He kept his eyes firmly trained on the ground, refusing to look at any of his companions, preferring instead the dull grey of the cement beneath his feet. He had taken to counting the number of cracks in the pavement, desperate to think of anything apart from the red-haired boy who walked only five paces behind him. "One, two, thee," Ralph muttered under his breath, struggling to bring his voice under control. He thought he heard a snicker behind him. He ignored it, and drew a deep, shaky breath, "Four, five, six," he continued. Someone snickered again. Ralph felt hot breath on the nape of his neck.

"Talking to yourself is the first sign of madness, Ralph."

Ralph froze. He willed himself to turn around and face his tormentor. Cold grey eyes and a supercilious smile awaited him.

"I hardly think you're qualified to pass judgment on madness, Jack." The smile disappeared, and was replaced by a cold frown.

"It doesn't have to be like this, Ralph…" The tone was more menacing than friendly.

"Be like what?" Ralph answered, frustrated.

"We don't have to be enemies," at this Ralph snorted with disgust. Jack continued eagerly, "You and me, we're the same. We're leaders, we're strong, we need to stick together. We're the only ones who really know what it's like to be in power," Jack walked closer to him, eyes shining with poorly concealed excitement. "We can be friends, Ralph, like we were, before…"

Something in Ralph snapped. "Before you killed Piggy?" Jack recoiled, as if struck. "Before you mutinied? Before you destroyed our island, before you and your hunters–"

Here Ralph's voice dropped to a low, steely, whisper. "Tried to kill me?"

Jack frowned. "I had to!"

Ralph sneered at him. "You had to do nothing. You did only as you wanted. If you want a friend, find Roger," he paused, remembering the dark, sullen boy, and continued, "you certainly have enough in common." With that, he strode away from Jack, towards the front of the group, ignoring the pleading looks the young'uns were throwing him, and the dark scowl Jack was now wearing.

Ralph turned to the large officer who was escorting the group to where they would meet their families. "How much longer until we arrive, sir?" He inquired, politely. The officer smiled and looked down at him.

"We're almost there."

After about five minutes, the boys and their chaperone arrived at what was to be their home, until a family member claimed them, or they turned eighteen. Ralph looked with a sinking feeling of dread at the large, uniform, grey building before him. It looked more like a prison than a school, Ralph thought, despairingly. The officer, however, did not seem to share his melancholy attitude.

"Right, boys, this is our stop! Come on, then, everyone inside." He ushered them into the building jovially. Once inside the large grand foyer, Ralph looked around, craning his neck to see the ceiling. A large staircase awaited them at the end of the foyer, and he could see a few doors on either side. Ralph chewed his lower lip nervously, and he was not the only one. The young'uns looked close to tears, even Jack seemed disconcerted by this intimidating school. Ralph heard a door open behind him, and whirled around. A distinguished-looking man in his early fifties—A professor? Ralph wondered--had come out of one of the doors to the right of him. He was a stern looking man, it seemed as though it he ever smiled, his face might very well crack in two. He strode up to them, and his severe air did not dissipate.

"Welcome to Pencey Preparatory Academy," He intoned briskly. "I am your headmaster, Professor Griffin. You may refer to me as 'sir,'" This man was doing nothing to calm the nerves that were making Ralph feel violently ill. "If you behave yourselves," Here he stole a look at Jack, who had a very bored expression on his face, and was pretending to clean his fingernails, "You will find your experiences here to be quite enjoyable. If you behave poorly, I will not hesitate to discipline you as I see fit." He paused in his speech for a minute, and surveyed the rather motley-looking crew. "Follow me," and with that, he turned on his heel and began climbing the staircase, the boys followed him, albeit more slowly. The headmaster led them up the stairs and to the right, and stopped in front of a door labeled "New Arrivals." He turned to face them once more. "This is where you will sleep. One to a bunk. Lights out is at nine; dinner is at six, if you are late, you do not eat. Classes begin at seven and end at three. You will find your schedules on the bunk assigned to you. Bunk assignments are posted on the back of the door. That is all." And with that, he left, leaving the boys very much alone in their new environment.

A/N: This is my first fic, please leave a review, even if it's just a flame. I want to make this story as good as it can be. Thanks for reading!


	2. Settling In

ADJUSTING

CHAPTER TWO

DISCLAIMER: I don't own any of the boys, nor the novel they appear in/

Ralph was the first to enter the room. It was fairly non-descript, uniform wooden bunk beds in precise rows, with sheets and blankets folded into neat piles. The rest of the boys filed in warily after Ralph, looking around nervously. Ralph checked the back of the door, and found his bunk number. He strode over to the bed, and set his satchel down upon it. He plopped down on the stiff, scratchy mattress and lay back, not bothering to take off his shoes, and folded his hands behind his head. The other boys followed suit, each sitting down uncomfortably on the small beds they would be sleeping on until they left the school. Jack walked over to his own bunk, down the row from Ralph's. He hesitated near Ralph's prone figure, but quickly resumed his gait at the stoic look on Ralph's face. A few of the young'uns began hushed conversation, but even that soon faded into pensive silence. They sat in this melancholic, tense silence until the bell rang for supper.

Ralph started at the sound. He had been so immersed in thought that he had tuned out all the sounds from around him. He lay still for a moment longer, then got up and followed the herd of boys to the dining hall. Dinner, they soon learned, was a silent affair. Except for the brief prayer at the start of meal, which caused several boys to guiltily drop their forks and hold off swallowing their food, the hall was mostly quiet. Any conversation was initiated by a teacher, and conversation was rare. A few of the boys looked uncomfortable with this arrangement, but it suited Ralph just fine. When the boys were dismissed from the large table, they went subdued to their room. None were ready to retire for the night, so they broke off into groups, whispering and stifling laughter. All except Ralph, that is. Ralph was in no mood to converse idly with any of his peers. He sneered unconsciously at the thought of mending fences with them. Instead, he turned over onto his side, prepared to simply lie there, until sleep overtook him. He was just drifting off, when a strangled cry awoke him.

"Kill the pig! Cut her throat! Spill her blood!" A young'un of about ten years had worked himself into a feverish excitement that soon dwindled into remorse and regret, and the solemn faces that greeted him. Ralph rose slowly from his bed, and walked over to the boy, who by now was trembling with fear at Ralph's imposing presence. His friends sucked in their breath and held it, waiting to see what their once chief would do. For a moment, Ralph was still, simply looking at the terrified boy in front of him. Then his somber expression twisted suddenly into one of rage, and flew at the boy, snarling with rage. He punched him, knocking him flat onto his back, and straddled his smaller body, wrapping his hands around the boy's neck. He began choking him, blind with rage and tears, sobbing and screaming at the same time.

"Don't—don't you say that again! Ever! D'you hear me!" The boy nodded his head frantically, clawing at Ralph's tightening hands. This shook the boys from their stupor, Samneric rushed to pull Ralph off the boy, who sucked in a great lungful of air greedily. Ralph was still blind with anger and sorrow, his torment obvious. His adrenaline gone, he sank onto his bed, muttering, "I'm chief—we voted…I'm chief…I'm chief…" He lay trembling on his bed, repeating his mantra over and over again, oblivious to the dozens of eyes on him. He closed his eyes, and the talking stopped. The boys let out a collective breath, and returned to their activities, albeit a bit more cautiously. Ralph finally dozed off into a restless sleep, and the rest of the boys followed not long after.

A/N: All reviews are greatly appreciated.

Mark of CTown: Thanks for the words of encouragement! I'll try to update faster next time.

Tiger Dauthi: David Copperfield is one of my favourite books, but the headmaster's character is not based on any pre-existing character. He is simply a strict man.


	3. Things go bump in the night

ADJUSTING

CHAPTER THREE

DISCLAIMER: I don't own the boys, or William Golding's novel.

After Ralph's outburst, the boys quickly settled down to sleep. One by one, they slowly drifted off. All except Roger. Roger lay awake in his bunk, hands folded on his stomach, staring straight up at the ceiling. He could hear the rhythmic patter of the rain outside, and he focused his thoughts on it.

Drip…drip.

Roger remembered the last time he had listened to the rain. It had been the night they killed the beast. Intellectually, Roger knew that it was the night they had murdered Simon. But he always thought of it as the night they killed the beast.

Drip…Drip

The night they proved themselves better than anything else on the island. The night they stopped being afraid. Roger grinned a little, remembering the aftermath of that night. He had been Jack's second in command. That was fine with him. He didn't want to be a leader, anyways. Roger was perfectly content to work behind the scenes. He had no delusions of grandeur, nor thirst for power. Roger did what he did for himself, to satisfy himself, to abate his hunger. Roger's grin stretched a little wider, so wide that it was unclear whether it was a smile or a grimace. He turned over on his side, facing away from the wall.

He dropped down over the side of his bunk, and looked down at the sleeping face below him. Percival. The grin slipped off his face, and was replaced by a look of fervid determination. He hesitated, looked around to make sure no one was watching, then grabbed little Percival. He jerked him upwards, so he was holding him in the air, over the edge of his bed. Percival opened his mouth to scream. But quickly shut it at Roger's deep scowl. He bean shivering compulsively, and tears leaked out of his eyes. Roger held him there for ten minutes, watching him, savoring his fear. Then, abruptly, he dropped him. He had felt the thrill of the hunt; he had seen his prey cower before him. He had satisfied his primal impulse to generate fear, to hurt, to frighten. Percival whimpered softly, and crawled back into bed, curling himself up into the fetal position, and cried himself back to sleep.

Roger felt eyes on his back. He rolled over, slowly, to see Jack Merridew, staring intensely at him. Roger held his gaze for a moment, and Jack grinned predatorily. Roger felt a really smile grace his lips. He had found a companion, a fellow hunter, someone to enjoy the chase with. He opened his mouth to speak, but Jack put a finger to his lips, motioning to the hallway, where the prefects patrolled late at night. Roger understood, and held his tongue. With one last feral grin at Jack, Roger turned over and closed his eyes, too excited to sleep.

Jack watched him for a while longer, staring unfocused at his back. Roger, he reflected, was his sort of people. He didn't need a goody-two-shoes nancy-boy like Ralph. Ralph was never strong enough to be a hunter. Ralph could never understand the thrill of dominating someone so completely that they lost their minds with fright. Roger, he continued to think, might just be his best ally here. They understood each other, they understood what the hunt _meant_, what the hunt was about. It had never been just about getting meat, like naïve Ralph had assumed. It had been about proving yourself, conquering the island, showing everyone that you were a force to be reckoned with. He yawned sleepily, and before he fell asleep, he has one last thought.

Roger, he mused, could help him hunt again. With that, he closed his eyes, and drifted off, falling in and out of a restless sleep, plagued with not bad, but very intense dreams. He smiled unconsciously. He was back on the island.

A/N: Review, please! Anonymous reviews are enabled, all suggestions welcome.


	4. The silence shatters

ADJUSTING

CHAPTER FOUR

DISCLAIMER: I don't own Lord of the Flies, nor the characters contained therein.

The boys were roused from uneasy sleep at eight o'clock the next morning. They drowsily assembled for a morning prayer in the dining hall, then sat down to breakfast, the stupor of sleep still weighing heavily upon them. Ralph poked nauseously at his food, and pushed his plate away from him, sighing heavily. Jack noticed this, and elbowed Roger, who looked up at Jack, and an eager smile appeared on his face. Watching Ralph play with his food, Jack put down his own fork, and leaned across the table to whisper to Ralph.

"What's the matter, Ralph? Egg and toast not good enough for you? Prefer some nice pig?" He sat back down in his chair, and stared challengingly at Ralph, smirking condescendingly at him. Roger looked between the two in anticipation, relishing the tense atmosphere. Ralph was silent for a moment, then looked up to stare Jack in the eyes, hot fury emanating from his regal posture.

"What did you say?" It wasn't a question, rather a challenge. The boys watching this silent battle paused with food halfway to their mouths, waiting to see how Jack would respond to this challenge. Jack appeared to be slightly uneasy, but covered it quickly with a cocky attitude.

"I asked if you'd prefer pig's meat. As I recall, you seemed to be quite fond of it.

"But Ralph didn't hunt, Jack. No more did _Simon_." Roger chimed in, maliciously accenting the deceased boy's name. A collective breath was sucked in around the table. No one spoke Simon's name aloud. He was a taboo subject. He was always with them, lurking in the foreground of their minds, but he was never discussed. The boys exchanged knowing glances, and turned back to face the speaker.

What baffled the boys even more so than the use of their fallen comrade's name, was the one who spoke it. Roger never talked to anyone. He was a crafty enigma, who spent his time observing and listening, but he was never one to speak unless spoken to, which was a rare occurrence in itself. Roger inspired a sense of dread in all but the hardiest of boys. Unlike Jack, who proudly displayed his commanding presence, Roger seemed to be a nameless entity, something all the boys recognized, but none understood. Roger, never mean, only cruel. Roger, the good-looking and clean-cut psychopath. Roger did everything with military precision. His clothes were always pressed, his hair always combed and neat, and his shoes always shone. At first glance, Roger appeared to be an angel, a perfect, unmarred visage, shiny black hair that assumed a seemingly effortless perfection, and a stance that set him apart from all the others. But looking closer, Roger was anything but. His eyes glinted not with mirth or mischief, but as if they were flecks of ice. His unblemished countenance seemed carved out of a block of marble, impassive and unfeeling. The careful determination that marked his every move was not born out of nobility or caution, but a carefully practiced cruelty. Many people had made the mistake of assuming that Roger's perfection stemmed from an inner glow, but Roger's perfection was made from ice. Roger was cold, calculated, and cunning.

Ralph turned to look at Roger, bewildered by the boy's sudden break of self-imposed silence. His wonder soon turned to anger, when he took in what the boy had said. _No one_ mocked Piggy. Like Simon, Piggy was a subject that was never discussed, but often thought of. He was the cause for more than one boy's sleepless night. Ralph gripped his knife so tight his knuckles turned white. He stared, scrutinizing Roger, forming a reply.

"If you _ever_ say that again, it will be the last thing you do." His words chilled the boys, and gave put Roger at ill ease. Roger had been hoping to incite Ralph's temper, to make him yell or attack, anything. He had not expected such a solemn vow. It frustrated him, and he scanned the table, looking for another target. He caught sight of a young'un, staring raptly at Ralph, with a look of complete amazement on his face. Roger narrowed his eyes and sent a vicious kick his way under the table. The young'un yelped, and looked around for his tormentor. His eyes landed on Roger, who was eating his breakfast, a look of complete innocence on his face.

Roger was a boy of deceiving appearance.

A/N: The idea for Roger's appearance came to me from Les Miserables, by Victor Hugo, where he describes Enjolras (I think) as seeming perfectly attractive to all the girls, but when they tried to attract him, they quickly found out not to confuse angelic perfection with cold-hearted perfection.

Stasya: There were two reasons for not taking that route. The first was that the novel takes place during a war. During the blitz in the 1940's in London, many children were sent away from the dangerous cities to live with foster families in the countryside. When they eventually returned, many families had been killed, or had left the country. The second reason was that after living alone for so long, some of the boys would have forgotten details like that (especially if they were already living at a boarding school beforehand.). In my story, the army officers sent letters and attempted to contact the guardians at the addresses the boys gave, instead of just sending them home without checking first.

R&R please.


	5. FaceOff

ADJUSTING

CHAPTER FIVE

DISCLAIMER: I don't own the novel or the boys.

Jack growled, and punched the wall in front of him. He winced in pain, and scowled at the dark mahogany wood, shaking his hand out. His confrontation with Ralph did not go as he had hoped. He ran his hands through his hair, and leaned against the wall, sighing deeply. He caught movement out of the corner of his eye, and straightened up hurriedly. He saw Roger exit through the door, looking pre-occupied. Roger glimpsed him, and ambled slowly over towards him, finally settling to lean sideways next to him, watching him intently. Jack shifted nervously under Roger's penetrating gaze, and cleared his throat. Roger smirked at him, and drew himself up to his full height, a good few inches above Jack. He looked at him imperiously, at waited for him to speak. Jack looked at him, out of his element.

"What're," here, his voice cracked, and Roger's smirk widened. 'What're we going to do about Ralph?" Roger studied him, as if evaluating him. He paused, thinking.

"We keep at him." He said firmly. "We keep at him 'til he breaks." He finished, impressively. Jack nodded eagerly, and voice his assent, hoping to please Roger. Roger acknowledged him with a condescending wave, and glided off down the hallway, meandering out of sight. Jack gulped, and tried futilely to convince himself that it was _he_ calling the shots. He stayed leaning against the wall for a few seconds, then abruptly sped off in the opposite direction, absent-mindedly bumping into Sam and Eric on the way. As he brushed past them, knocking the books in their hands to the ground, they watched him hurry away, and shrugged at each other, collecting their books and continuing on. As they walked along the hallway, they were accosted by a grinning Roger, who smiled at them and cracked his knuckles. Sam and Eric looked at each other, and simultaneously began inching away from him.

Ralph was walking slowly along the hallway, engrossed in a battered copy of Robinson Crusoe, and his mind barely registered his surroundings. But even he, involved as he was in his reading, could not fail to hear the plaintive wail coming from a few doors down. He hesitated, but as the cry grew louder, he threw caution to the winds, and wrenched open a nondescript door, to reveal a terrified Sam and Eric, and an oddly blank-looking Roger. Sam and Eric bolted out the door, averting their eyes to the floor, and hurrying back to the dorm. Ralph watched them go, and when he was sure they were out of earshot, rounded on Roger.

"What the _hell_ do you think you're doing?" He hissed, vehemently. Roger's expression darkened, and he moved to push past Ralph, but Ralph pushed him and he stumbled back. He glared at Ralph, and moved to pass him again, but Ralph blocked his path, and stared him down. "What did you _do_?" He asked again, more forcefully. Roger glared at him, sullenly, and gave in.

"Nothing." Ralph made a noise of disgust, and pushed him again.

"Tell me!" He shouted, and shoved him. Roger had had enough, and began fighting back. The two boys were tussling furiously, when the door banged open. A pair of hands pulled them apart, and they looked at their livid headmaster.

"Detention tonight." He said curtly, and exited the room. Roger and Ralph glared at each other, and left the room, heading in opposite directions.

A/N: Review please. I update **much** faster with reviews. I'm not really sure if I should continue this story—feedback?


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